Moroccan Nights
by Dragonfires
Summary: Based on Casablanca. Draco, a club owner in Casablanca, lives the life of indifference. But when the woman he loves walks back into his life and bar, he must decide between his wants or the lives of the innocents in jeopardy. Full Summary inside. R&R!
1. Changing World

Basically, it's the plot bunnies' fault- those devilish rats. Casablanca has always been a comfort movie to me and an idea struck me last night to make a story crossover/based on it. I guess it is probably more based on it, rather than a crossover. I will never mention any of the original characters. To those who have seen the movie- I hope you will enjoy this edition as much as the original. As for those who haven't- I hope you will like it just as much. I would highly recommend seeing the movie first though if you don't want me to spoil it for you. Enjoy!

Name: Moroccan Nights

Author: Dragonfires

Rating: PG-13

Ships: DM/HG, HP/HG, and mentions of DM/GW

Summary: To escape the forceful hand of the Death Eaters on Europe and parts of Africa, many witches and wizards fled to Casablanca to obtain safe voyage to freedom in America. Draco Malfoy, the cynical owner of the most popular night club in that city, lives the quiet life of indifference- neither siding with the Death Eaters, nor the Liberators (those trying to free Europe from Voldemort's grasp). But when his former love walks into his life and club with another man, he is forced to make the decision between his own wants and the lives those in jeopardy. (Post-Hogwarts).

Disclaimer: I do not own Casablanca and Harry Potter. I am making no profits off of this fic and do not intend to. The characters are the property of their rightful owners (not me).

**Moroccan Nights**

By: Dragonfires

In the 1940s, the world was thrust into the horrific battles of World War Two. Hitler, a powerful military leader, raised the forces of his supporters, Nazis, against Europe and those he considered imperfect- predominantly those of the Jewish religion. Death camps were established where these innocent people were terminated by the thousands.

After the Nazis took control of Paris, many fled looking for safe passage to the Americas, to freedom, through Lisbon. But not all could go straight to Lisbon, so a refugee trail erupted: Paris to Marseilles, Marseilles to Oran, then across the rim of Africa to Casablanca. And there is where those lucky people through money, influence, or luck gained visas to go to America.

The year is now 2010, and this story takes place in that accursed city of Casablanca. There is now a similar situation in the wizarding world. After the death of Albus Dumbledore, Lord Voldemort and his forces wreaked havoc upon the wizarding communities in Europe and parts of Africa (Egypt, Lybia, and Algeria, to be precise). The wizarding government in Morocco, as unstable as it is, has managed to allow Death Eater occupation, but maintained their own laws.

Hitler, a sort of idol for Voldemort, has become Voldemort's inspiration in many of his actions. Concentration camps similar to the Nazi death camps have been established near Longford, Armagh, Bath, Northampton, Pierrelatte, Orange, and Cairo where Muggle-borns are killed in the hundreds along with a few Muggles that have fallen prisoner to Voldemort's forces.

So many have fled to Casablanca, the only know place left where a safe passage to the Americas may be attained.

* * *

Michael Corner walked up the streets of Espoir Alley, the all magic part of Casablanca with his wife Katherine next to him. He watched, amused, as she haggled with a shop owner over a piece of lace. The sound of a plane was heard, and he and Katherine looked up. He heard her sigh beside him. "Maybe tomorrow," she said wistfully, "we'll be on that plane."

He shrugged, but then heard the sound of a car speeding down the dirt road. Grabbing Katherine, he pushed her inside of the Silver Coin, a popular watering hole in the city. He watched carefully out of the window as the Death Eaters clambered out of the car and began arresting anyone that looked "suspicious."

"What do they want?" asked Katherine.

"Rumor says that there were two Death Eaters murdered last night that were carrying two letters of transit," he said.

"Was it the Liberators?"

"Either that or some greedy man trying to make a fortune to go to America."

"Avada Kedavra!" they heard someone yell from outside.

Michael closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. "Sounds like someone was resisting arrest; it was probably a Liberator."

After his words, the sound of the car outside gave him the reassurance that it was okay to exit the club. After all, when you are a Liberator and are carrying literature on freeing the Muggle-borns, it isn't safe to brushing shoulders with Death Eaters.

* * *

Blaise Zambini waited anxiously next to Zanda Schmitt as the plane landed; he saw Schmitt smile as the Dark Mark on the side of the plane was make clear and visible. The motor of the plane ceased and a large man in black robes walked out of the plane. His robes were decorated with silver, the mark of Voldemort's Chosen. These men were in the middle circle of Voldemort's support. Voldemort's Few, those in his inner circle, had robes decorated with metallic green, while all others sported robes of plain black.

The man walked to Schmitt who immediately said, "Our Lord is the liberator."

The Chosen, whom Zambini had begun to remember, said, "He provides for the loyal."

"It is nice to see you again, Honored Flint," said Schmitt, ignoring Blaise who stumbled at the recognition of his name. Marcus Flint nodded his head. "May I present the Chief Auror here in Casablanca? Honored Flint, this is Blaise Zambini."

As Flint nodded, recognizing him, Blaise could see Flint did not remember him from Hogwarts. "Casablanca welcomes you," Blaise said.

"I am happy to be here," said Flint.

"The weather here in Casablanca can be quite hot at times; you may want to consider casting a cooling charm on your robes," said Blaise, confidently.

"Thank you for your advice. Anyway, what has been done about the murder of our two brothers?"

"Well, I have the men gathering twice the number of usual suspects. We actually already know who the murder is, but it never hurts to establish some intimidation in the people. It keeps them in line."

"Do you have him?"

"No, of course not."

Flint's eyebrow's furrowed in anger, "Why not?"

"We know where he is. He'll be at Dragon's tonight; everyone goes there."

"Well, as long as you know where he is... I've heard quite a lot about this place- Dragon's. And I remember the owner from school. Does he still own it?"

"Draco? Of course."

"I'd very much like to be reacquainted with him."

"Very well! Come to Dragon's tonight. You may also witness the capture of the man who murdered your men."

* * *

Okay, I'm sorry if that chapter was a little boring, since all it really did was give information. But it will liven up quite a bit, I promise. I hope you still enjoyed it!

Dragonfires


	2. A Night at Dragon's

Thanks very much for all the encouragement! I really appreciate it. Enjoy Chapter 2!

* * *

Draco Malfoy took a long drag of his cigarette, held the smoke, and then exhaled. He surveyed his club from where he sat through the cigarette's fog. A piano tinkled under the skilled hands of its player, Ginny Weasley. Her full, vibrant voice sang some song or another as the band accompanied her and her keys.

_It had to be you.  
It had to be you.  
I wandered around,  
And finally found,  
Somebody who_

Draco looked back down at the chessboard and surveyed the game he had designed for himself. He was playing by himself, mind you. He frowned at the black bishop and moved the white queen out of harm's way.

"How's the game?" asked his chief waitress, Millicent. It was a continuing wonder how all his classmates ended up in Casablanca. But after the invasion and conquer, it seemed everyone wanted to go to America.

"I think I'm winning," he said.

Millicent gave him a small smile. "By the way, Draco, I just got this check. Is it okay?"

_Could make me be true,  
And make me be blue.  
Or even be glad,  
Just to be sad thinking of you_

Draco looked at it, took a small black pen and scribbled, "O.K.- Draco."

"Thanks," she said. "And good luck with that game. Oh, and if I were you, watch out for that knight. He has the black king in check."

Draco glanced at the board and removed the prescribed piece out of the way of the knight.

_For nobody else  
Gave me the thrill.  
With all of your faults,  
I love you still.  
It had to be you,  
Wonderful you.  
It had to be you._

With the last clink of the piano keys, the audience burst into applause. Draco looked up and saw Ginny give him a wink. Draco exhaled and looked over at the rest of the bar. 'You can wink all you want, honey. You can play songs like that, but that won't come back,' he thought to himself. He had met Ginny in France before the invasion of Paris. She had been a friend then, just a girl who played sad love songs in a Parisian café, but she had come with him to Marseilles, and in Oran they had one hell of a night. But they discussed it when they came to Casablanca. That was a mistake and over, and it wouldn't happen again. Their relationship was strictly professional. But that didn't stop her from giving him a wink every now and then.

Staring at his chessboard, he smelled strange tobacco smoke mingling with his own. He looked up and saw a man standing before him. The man was small, and had a nervous air about him; he smiled at Draco.

"Longbottom," said Draco, lighting another cigarette with the butt of his last.

"Hello, Draco. May I sit down?" said Neville, flicking the ash of his cigarette into the ashtray. Draco gave a nod. "You know, Draco, they way you run this place makes me think that you have been doing this since you got out of Hogwarts."

"And what makes you think that I haven't?" said Draco.

Neville laughed nervously, "What right do I have to think? What do you think about those two Death Eaters? Poor devils."

"I'd say they are lucky," said Draco. "Yesterday they were two butt-kissing footstools to You-Know-Who; now they are the Brothers in Arms."

"You're a very cynical person, if you don't mind me saying so."

"I don't mind," said Draco quickly.

Millicent came to the table and placed a brandy in front of Neville. "Oh, Draco, will you drink with me?"

"No."

"Yes," he said. "I forgot. You never drink with customers. Millicent, I'll have another." Millicent nodded and went to fetch another drink. "You hate me, don't you, Draco?"

Draco's face remained emotionless. "If I gave you any thought I probably would."

"Because of my business, right? Think of all those poor witches and wizards that can't get out of Casablanca, though, if I didn't help them."

"For a price," said Draco. "Always for a price."

"But think of everyone who can't meet Zambini's price? I get it for them. Is that so bad?" Neville sighed. "Well, tonight I am out of the business. I'm leaving Casablanca."

"Who did you bribe- yourself or Zambini?"

"Myself. I am much more reasonable." Neville took and envelope from out of his inside jacket pocket and laid it on the table. "Do you know what this is? This is two letters of transit signed by You-Know-Who himself. They cannot be refused passage, or even questioned. Tonight I'll sell them for more money than I've ever dreamed of. But, Rick, you, since you hate me so, are the only one that I trust in Casablanca. Will you hold these for me?"

Draco raised his eyebrow. "For how long? I don't want them here overnight."

"No, never," he said. "Just for a few hours." Draco took the letters and stuck them into his pocket. "Thank you, Draco. I knew I could trust you. Now if you don't mind, I think I'll share my victory at Merlin's roulette wheel. I hope you are a bit more impressed with me now."

"Wait just a second," said Draco. "Those two Death Eaters were carrying letters of transit."

"Oh," said Neville. "I heard that rumor. Poor devils."

Draco smirked disgustedly at him. "You're right, Longbottom. I am a little more impressed with you."

With that, Draco spun on his heel and began walking to Ginny who had started up a new lively song.

_I'm nobody's baby,  
I wonder why.  
Every night and day  
I pray to the Lord above.  
Please send me down somebody to love._

Draco stood at the back of her vibrating piano and watched her play with a small smile on his face. As soon as the spot lights swung from her to the audience, he took Neville's envelope, cracked the top of the piano and shoved the letters in there. He took a last look at Ginny before looking at the crowd. He spotted her brother, Bill Weasley, owner of the Silver Coin, at a table with his latest conquest. Ginny's song finished majestically as Draco walked over to Bill's table.

"Hello, Draco," said Billy.

"Weasley," he said, his face clear of expression. "How's business at the Silver Coin?"

"Fine," he said, "but I would like to buy your club."

"It isn't for sale at any price."

"Then what about Ginny?" said Bill.

"What about her?"

"How much for her?"

"She's your own bleeding sister! You actually want to make a profit off of her? Anyway, I don't buy or sell humans."

"Too bad- it's Casablanca's leading business. I really wish you would work with me in the black market. We could make a fortune."

Draco stood up, having enough of the conversation. "Suppose you let me run my business and you can run yours."

"Suppose we ask Ginny," said Bill. "She may want to work with her big brother."

"Suppose we do." Bill stood up and began to walk with Draco to Ginny's piano, who was playing a solemn, instrumental, giving her voice a break. Ginny looked over her shoulder and smiled at the approaching men.

"Ginny," said Draco, leaning on the upright piano. "Bill wants you to go work with him at the Silver Coin."

"Billy," she said calmly, playing her piece perfectly. "You've asked me already and I gave you an answer. My answer is still the same. I like it just fine right here."

"He can pay you double what I pay you," said Draco.

"That's alright," she laughed. "I don't have the time to spend all the money I make anyway."

Draco looked up at Bill. "Sorry," he said. Bill nodded and walked back to the table where his beautiful date waited for him. Diamonds glittered on her hands and neck- it was no mystery where she got them. The Silver Coin was the most successful bar and nightclub in Casablanca, besides his own, of course. Not to mention, Bill makes much of his fortune through the black market- selling slaves, obtaining visas, brothels, the works. You name an illegal activity, and you can bet Bill Weasley has a hand in it as long as it has money involved.

It's still a mystery to many where he got the golden itch from. Some say that working at Gringot's got to him and he had to have what he saw every day- money. Others say that because his family was poor, he vowed never to do the same. But most agree that it is his business, like much of what goes on in Casablanca.

Draco walked over to the bar to check the stocks, where he saw Terry Boot, his barkeep, mooning over a pretty woman who was obviously drunk.

"This is from the boss's private stash," said Terry, sliding her a brandy. "It's because, Pansy, I love you."

Pansy looked into the glass morosely, and then downed it. "Oh, shut up," she said.

"Alright, alright," he said. "For you, I shut up. Because, Pansy, I love you."

Draco walked up to the bar and leaned on it by Pansy. He could feel her eyes on him, but he did not look at her once.

"Monsieur Draco," said Terry. "Some Germans, they gave me this check, is it alright?"

Draco looked briefly at the check, and then ripped it in two. Pansy's eyes were still fixed upon him, but he didn't meet her gaze once. Draco picked up a black pencil and wrote a small note to the Germans about the check.

"Where were you last night?" said Pansy, who stared unblinkingly at him.

"That was so long ago I don't remember," said Draco.

"Will I see you tonight?"

"I never make plans that far in advance," said Draco matter-a-factly.

Pansy sniffed, and turned to Terry. "Give me another," she said, slamming her glass on the counter.

"She's had enough, Boot," said Draco.

"Don't listen to him, Terry!" she demanded.

"Pansy, I love you, but he pays me," said Terry.

Pansy groaned, her eyes filled with a drunken fire. "Draco! I'm sick and tired of—"

"Call a cab, Terry," Draco interrupted. He took Pansy by the arm. "C'mon, Pansy. It's time for you to go home. You've had enough to drink."

"Oh, what a fool I was to fall for a man like you. Take your hands off me! "

"No," he said, wheeling her outside where Terry stood, waiting with the cab. Draco handed Pansy to Terry. "Boot," he said. "You'd better go with her, just to make sure she gets home."

"Yes, sir," said Terry happily.

"And come straight back."

Terry groaned, "Yes, boss."

Draco turned back to go inside, but saw a figure sitting in a chair on the terrace.

"Hello, Blaise," he said.

"Hello, Draco."

"You are quite wasteful, Draco- throwing away women like that. Someday they may be rare," Blaise said with a small twinkle in his eyes. "Especially that one. She's had a thing for you since Hogwarts; she'd do anything you asked."

Draco shrugged and lit a cigarette.

"You know," Blaise continued. "I may pay a call on Pansy; catch her on the rebound, you know?"

"You're a true democrat, you know that," said Draco. He looked up at the night sky as a plane flew above them, the buzz of the engines sounding in his ears.

"The plane to Lisbon and America," said Blaise. "Would you like to be on it?"

"Why?" said Draco, taking a long drag. "What could I want there?"

"You know, I have often thought about why you don't leave Casablanca. Is it because you stole money? Or perhaps you ran off with a politician's wife. I like to think that you killed a man. It's the romantic in me."

"What's romantic about that?" Draco blew the smoke out. "It's actually a combination of the three."

"Then why come to Casablanca of all places?"

"For the view. I wanted to look at the exotic greenery."

"We're in the middle of a desert. There is no greenery here, nor waters."

Draco shrugged. "I was misinformed."

Blaise gave a small chuckle as Christopher ran out of the club.

"Draco," he said, breathlessly. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but a man has just won five hundred galleons at craps. The cashier would like some money."

Draco nodded and stood up, crushing his cigarette in the ashtray. "I'll go get it from the safe," he said.

"I am so upset," said Christopher, running beside him. "I don't know how it happened!"

"Don't worry about it," said Draco. "Mistakes happen all the time."

He turned the combination on the safe in his office, pulled out a sack of galleons and gave it to the small man. "I'm sorry," said Christopher. "And it won't happen again." Christopher left the office and closed the door, leaving Blaise and Draco inside.

"Draco," said Blaise. "This may amuse you. We are making a small arrest here in your café tonight."

"Again?" he said.

"We are arresting a murderer." Draco's eyebrows raised; he looked towards the door of the office. "Don't even bother trying to warn him," said Blaise. "There is no possible way he could escape."

"I stick my neck out for nobody," Draco said firmly.

"I smart motto to have. You know, we could have made the arrest this morning at the Silver Coin, but I wanted to have it here out of my respect for you. Thought it would amuse your guests."

"Ginny and the band are enough entertainment."

"This also may interest you," said Blaise. "We are having an important guest here tonight. One of His Chosen- Marcus Flint. We want him here so he can see the arrest."

"Flint, eh?" said Draco, his eyes signifying the recognition of the name. "Anyway, what is he doing here? There is no way he came to Casablanca just to see the efficiency of your squads."

Blaise shrugged.

"Blaise," Draco said, "you have something on your mind. Why don't you just tell me what it is?"

Blaise raised his eyebrows. "You're very observant," he said. "I was going to give you a word of advice." He accepted the brandy Draco gave him and took a sip. "Draco, there are many visas sold at your bar, but we know you have never sold one. That is why we allow you to stay open."

"I thought it was because I let you win at roulette?" said Draco, smiling.

"That is another reason. However, there is a man who is coming to Casablanca that will give a fortune to anyone who will give him an exit visa."

"Really? What's his name?"

"Harry Potter."

* * *

Okay, much more action and excitement this time, along with some information. Hope you liked it! Please R&R!

Dragonfires


	3. As Time Goes By

Hey guys. Okay, one thing before we get started on Chapter 3 of "Moroccan Nights." Well, actually two. One of my friends who read this asked me, "Hey, why do they need exit visas and have to go by plane? Can't they just apparate?" This is how it works. When Voldemort took over, he and his followers cast a big charm in the ministries (only place it can work), so that no one can apparate from country to country. That is why they need a visa. The other thing- I know that for those who have seen the movie, you are probably going to recognize a lot of the lines. I hate crossovers where they just switch the names and use the same lines, so I'm not going to have that happen in mine. It is just that many of "Casablanca's" lines just make the characters and the entire movie. It would be silly to leave them out. And here is next chapter! Hope you like it!

* * *

"Harry Potter," said Draco, his eyes widening. He leaned back in his chair and took a gulp of brandy.

"You know," said Blaise, "I think that is the first time I've ever seen you so impressed."

"He impressed the UK when he survived 'Avada Kedavra,' and then impressed the rest of Europe, Africa, and the Americas with his actions in the Liberator movements. Escaping a death camp, running Muggle-borns away from danger..."

"Yes," said Blaise. "We all know what he's done, and it is my duty to see that it stops here. Potter stays in Casablanca."

Draco smirked. "It will be interesting to see how he escapes."

"I would advise you not to aid him, Draco. Plus, there is no way he can escape."

"Please, they are always saying he'll never escape- ever since Hogwarts they said that." Draco took another sip. "Six hundred galleons he won't escape."

"You serious?" asked Blaise, who was refilling his glass.

"I just lost five hundred. I'd like to get it back, along with a little profit."

"Make it three hundred. After all, I'm only a poor corrupt official."

"Done."

A sharp knock on the door came, and Millicent entered. "Honored Flint is here, Monsieur Zambini."

"Alright," he said. "Make sure he gets a good table- one close to the women."

"I have already given him the best, and since he's a Chosen, I know he would take it anyway," she laughed.

Zambini smiled, and then walked out into the café with Draco, music filling their ears.

_You say neither, I say neither.  
__You say either, I say either.  
Either, either, neither, neither.  
Let's call the whole thing off._

Draco lit a cigarette and watched Blaise talk to the guards, posting two at each door. 'Here we go again,' he thought. He leaned against the bar, taking in small puffs of smoke.

"In a few moments," Blaise said to Flint and those accompanying him, "you will witness the arrest of the man who killed your brothers." At those words, two guards walked up to Neville and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Monsieur Longbottom," one said. "You are to come with us."

Neville's eyes darted around the café. "Alright, but may I cash my chips first?"

The man nodded gruffly. Neville walked to the cashier, where he received thirty galleons and five sickles. "Very lucky," he laughed nervously. Draco watched as he stowed the coins in his pocket and began walking, picking up speed as he went. Then he broke into a run and ran to the terrace. The soldiers began firing stunning spells, causing the women in Dragon's to scream. Neville ran back in through the bar entrance and collided with Draco. He grabbed Draco by the coat of his white suit, his wet eyes full of fear.

"Draco," he stuttered. "You've got to hide me!"

"It's too late, Longbottom," he said, emotionlessly. "They've got you now."

The soldiers grabbed his shoulders and began dragging him away as he shouted after Draco.

"I hope you'll be more of a help if they come and get me, Draco," said a man who's name Draco could not remember.

"I stick my neck out for nobody," Draco said firmly. Then loudly, he said, "I'm sorry there was trouble, everyone, but it's all over now. Go back and have a good time. Hit it, Ginny." With that Ginny instantly started the band playing, "In the Mood."

Draco walked over to Flint and Blaise's table. Blaise smiled and him and said, "Ah, Honored Flint, do you recognize your former Quidditch mate?"

Flint nodded and said, "Yes, it's a shame he does not play anymore. It's been a long time since Hogwarts."

"Yes, it has," said Draco frankly.

"Now," said Flint. "May I ask you a few questions- informally of course?"

"Yes- you can make it formal if you like. I really don't care."

"Alright, now- I know your nationality is British, but you did spend quite some time in the United States. What do you have to say on that matter?"

"Well, there are some areas of the South I would advise you not to invade."

Flint smiled at the joke. "Do you think we will take possession of the Americas?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," said Draco.

Blaise laughed. "Draco is completely neutral about everything, and that includes the field of women."

Draco stood up. "Gentlemen, your business is politics; mine is running a saloon. Goodnight." Draco ground his cigarette into the ashtray and walked away from Blaise and the Death Eaters. He went back into the gambling room to check profits, just as a tall, raven haired boy entered Dragon's, holding the hand of a beautiful woman. Many heads turned as the couple proceeded to their reserved table. Not only did they turn because the man was Harry Potter, the underground leader, but because of the lady that stood beside him. She wore a white dress suit and a gold and ruby tennis bracelet around her wrist. Her hair hung to mid-back and was stylishly pulled away from her pretty face. Ginny saw them walk to their table; concern and dread crossed her countenance, and she stared unblinkingly at the keys she was playing. Blaise saw them enter and began closing his conversation with the Death Eaters. The couple sat down at the table in a corner.

"Harry, I don't think we should stay," said the woman quietly.

"Nonsense," he said. "We're going to be fine." A young man approached their table. "Hello," said Harry uncertainly.

"Harry," the man said. "You don't recognize one of your best friends?"

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Ron?"

Ron smiled and sat down. "You dyed your hair," said Harry.

"Had to- I'm too recognizable otherwise, and this scar isn't helping." Ron pointed to a scar that crossed down his cheek. "Now I know how you feel, Harry."

"We had heard you were dead," said Harry.

"Et tu. You gave Hermione quite a shock when we found you had escaped from the death camp."

Harry smiled and squeezed Hermione's hand under the table. Ron then lowered his voice. "I need to tell you something." He showed Harry a small ring of which the stone lifted up to reveal the Liberator symbol: two wands crossed in unity.

Harry lowered his voice, "Meet me at the bar later."

"Harry," said Hermione sharply as she saw Zambini approach their table.

Harry snapped the ring shut and handed it back to Ron. "No, I'm not interested in buying the ring, but thank you for showing it to me." Ron nodded and walked back to the bar.

"Hello, Potter," said Blaise when he reached them.

"Hello, Zambini," said Harry cheerfully. "Have you met my friend, Hermione Granger?"

"I remember you. You were a mousy little thing back at Hogwarts. Now they tell me you are the most beautiful woman to have ever set foot in Casablanca. Obviously, that was a gross understatement."

Hermione smiled. "You're very kind," she said.

"Would you have a drink with me?" asked Blaise.

"Please," said Harry, indicating a seat.

"Thank you." Blaise sat down then called a waiter. "Waiter, please bring a bottle of your best chardonnay."

"That really isn't necessary," said Harry.

"Oh no- don't worry about the cost. See, it's a little game we play. I order what I want and drink it. They bring the bill; I rip up the bill. It's all very fair."

"Monsieur," said Hermione, "Who's the girl playing the piano? I feel like I know her from somewhere."

"Ginvera?" said Blaise. "Oh she came with Draco from Paris. Of course, he calls her Ginny, and for some reason he's the only one that she'll let call her that."

"Draco?" said Hermione. "Who's he?"

"He can't be the one from school, could he?" said Harry.

"The very same," said Blaise. "Though, his attitude has changed somewhat. He's cut off all connections to his father and stays indifferent."

"Yes," said Harry. "I had heard that from a few acquaintances. I really don't consider us enemies anymore. After all, he isn't supporting the Death Eaters. I guess I'm rather indifferent towards him."

"Well," said Blaise. "I have some business to attend to with the Death Eaters. Goodnight."

He gave a small bow and walked away as the lights dimmed and the band picked up a new tune.

Harry leaned over towards Hermione. "I need to find out what Ron knows," he said quietly.

"Be careful," said Hermione.

"I will," he said. He kissed her cheek, and then walked to the bar. Hermione looked out across the café at different people, and then focused her attention on Ginny. Ginny seemed intent on keeping her attention off of Hermione. The pounding on the keyboard soon ceased and applause broke out among the crowd.

"Waiter," said Hermione to one that was nearby. "Would you ask the pianist to come here?"

"Oui," said the waiter, whisking off in that direction.

In a few moments, Hermione head the sound of wheels and saw Ginny with the piano.

"Hello, Ginny," said Hermione, smiling.

"Hello, Hermione," said Ginny, settling herself on the piano bench. "I go by Ginvera now."

"Oh, that's right. Zambini told me." Hermione took a sip of her chardonnay. "Play some of the old songs, Ginvera."

"Alright." Ginny launched into an instrumental of "I Get a Kick Out of You."

Hermione's face remained serious, and after listening to a little of that song said, "Where's Draco?"

"Oh," said Ginny, staring at the keys. "He's not here. He left."

Hermione smiled cunningly. "Does he always leave so early?"

"No. I mean, yes. See, he's got a girl up at the Silver Coin. He's over there all the time."

Hermione ran her finger around the rim of her glass. "You used to be a much better liar, Gin."

Ginny stopped playing and turned to face Hermione. "Leave him alone, Hermione. He doesn't need his heart broken again."

Hermione looked down, and then said, "Play it."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do. Play it, Gin. Play 'As Time Goes By.'"

"I don't think I remember."

"I'll hum it for you," Hermione then began to hum it for Ginny. Ginny sighed and began to play it on the piano. "Sing it, Ginvera." Ginny nodded.

_You must remember this  
A kiss is just a kiss  
A sigh is just a sigh  
The fundamental things apply  
As time goes by._

Hermione looked down at her empty glass and refilled it. A smile was no longer on her face as thousands of memories flooded her brain: laughter, tears, and then abrupt endings.

_And when two lovers woo,  
They still say 'I love you,'  
On that you can rely  
No matter what the future brings  
As time goes by._

Draco walked out of his office and glanced across the room. Suddenly, he heard the song Ginny was playing. Anger filled him as he stalked across the room towards the piano.

_It's still the same old story,  
A fight for love and glory,  
A case of do or die  
The world will always welcome lovers  
As time goes by_

"Ginny, I thought I told you never to play that song again," Draco said angrily.Ginny looked at him timidly, then cocked her head in the direction of the woman at the table.

He looked up and saw Hermione looking at him, a tiny smile playing on her lips. He stared back at her, a wave of emotions drowning him.

* * *

R&R please!

Dragonfires


	4. Parisian Beauty

A big thank you to all my readers! I know a few of you have been saying that you haven't seen Casablanca in a really long time. It is an awesome movie and I recommend it any day. No questions asked. Hope you enjoy chapter five!

* * *

Draco stared back at her, not wanting to believe she was real. Yet, there she was, looking up at him.

"Well!" Draco heard Blaise say behind him. He saw Blaise approaching the table with none other than Harry Potter. "Miss Granger, you expressed an interest in seeing Draco, and here he is."

"Hello, Hermione," interrupted Draco.

"Hello, Draco," she responded sharply.

Draco looked up at the men. "Hello, Potter," he said. "Long time, no see."

Harry nodded. "Have a drink with us?" asked Harry.

"Oh no," said Blaise. "Draco never drinks with—"

"Yes," said Draco. "I think I will."

"A tradition broken!" exclaimed Blaise. "Waiter!"

Harry smiled, trying to lighten the seemingly tense mood. "There's a lot about Draco Malfoy here in Casablanca."

"And a lot about Harry Potter everywhere else," Draco retorted.

"It's been a long time," said Hermione, smiling at him. "Let's see, when was it..."

"It was at the Café Bella, September of 2008. I remember that day like it was yesterday. The Death Eaters wore black. You wore red."

"Yes," she smiled. "I put that dress away. I'll wear it again when the Death Eaters leave Paris."

"Well," said Harry. "It is getting late and we need our sleep, Hermione. Plus, we need to be in Flint's office at eight tomorrow morning."

"Why?" said Hermione, her brow furrowing.

"It is the request of Monsieur Zambini, and we are under his authority."

"Yes," said Blaise. "We should leave. After all, we do have a curfew here in Casablanca. It wouldn't do for the Head Auror to be out drinking and have to fine himself."

The waiter came up to the table. "You bill," he said.

"I'll handle it," said Draco, taking it from the waiter.

"Another tradition broken!" said Blaise. "This has been a very interesting evening."

* * *

Draco sat at the bar in the darkened, empty café, a brandy glass in his hand. He took a long drink of brandy and put the glass back on the bar. Ginny came up behind him and touched him on the shoulder.

"What?" he said gruffly.

"You going to bed soon?"

"No."

"You going to bed tonight?"

"No."

"Are you ever going to bed?"

"No," he said angrily. He sighed and lit a cigarette, only to grind it out a second later. "Go on home, Ginny."

"No, I don't think I should. C'mon, there's nothing for you here."

"She's coming back. I know she's coming back."

Ginny sighed. "I'm staying right here, Draco." She sat down and began playing some slow, jazzy tune.

"If it's December 2010 in Casablanca, what time is it in New York?" said Draco, taking a sip of brandy.

"I don't know," she said. "My watch stopped."

"I bet they're asleep in New York. I bet they're asleep all over America."

He banged his glass back on the bar, only to refill it once again. He put the glass and bottle back down and buried his face in his hands.

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns of all the world," he said, "she walks into mine." He slammed his fist on the bar, and then looked at the piano. "What's that you're playing Ginny?"

"Oh, this?" she said. "Just a little something of my own."

"Well, stop it," he said. "You know what I want to hear."

"No, I don't."

"If she can take it, so can I! Play it, Ginny." Ginny exhaled and began playing what was once his and Hermione's song...

_You must remember this,  
__A kiss is just a kiss,  
A sigh is just a sigh.  
The fundamental things apply,  
As time goes by._

Draco closed his eyes as the memories of Paris overwhelmed him:

_He stood in a new jazz club that had opened on one of the side streets of Louis's Alley. He was twenty three and without a care in the world. The blue lighting gave a mystic effect against the young wizard's, who was singing, white robes. The Arc de Triomphe was visible through the window that was behind him and the band._

La lune trop bleme pose un diademe sur tes cheveux roux.  
La lune trop rousse de gloire eclabousse ton jupon plein d'trous.  
La lune trop pale caresse l'opale de tes yeux blases.  
Princesse de la rue soit la bienvenue dans mon coeur brise.

_He looked around the room and saw a girl sitting by the bar, a martini glass held carelessly in her fingers. She was quite pretty, and looked to be about his age, if not slightly younger. Her brownish locks fell in waves around her face, while her face was turned down in sadness. He walked over to her. "Bonjour," he said. "Soin à danse?"_

Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux misereux.  
Les ailes du moulin protegent les amoureux.  
Petite mandigotte je sens ta menotte qui cherche ma main.  
Je sens ta poitrine et ta taille fine. J'oublie mon chagrin.  
Je sens sur tes levres une odeur de fievre de gosse mal nourri.  
Et sous ta caresse je sens une ivresse qui m'aneantit.

_She looked up and her eyes widened at him. He stopped for a moment. Her face was so shockingly familiar, the brown eyes and hair, the oval face, the little nose... But he kept to his mission and asked his question again. "You don't recognize me, do you?" she said, with the spice of a British accent._

_"I do admit that you look familiar," he said. "But I can't think of exactly where I know you from."_

_"You hated me," she said._

_"I can't think of anyone in my life I have ever actually hated except for my father. You don't look like my father."_

_"You ridiculed me and my friends. You did it all the time."_

_Suddenly the memories came to him- her face on that of a younger girl's. She was laughing with her two best friends. Her eyes screwed up in anger as she threw a punch. Her nose was wrinkling while doing a difficult Arithmancy problem. Her eager hand shot into the air at every opportunity._

_"Hermione?" he said._

_"Malfoy," she accused._

_"I can see why you're being cold."_

_She nodded._

_"Willing to start over? My request still stands."_

_She thought for a minute, and then said, "Yes." She took his hand as he led her out to the dance floor._

Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux misereux.  
Les ailes du moulin protegent les amoureux.  
Et voila qu'elle trotte la lune qui flotte, la princesse aussi.  
Mes reves epanouis.  
Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux misereux.  
Les ailes du moulin protegent les amoureux

_Hermione smiled at him over a picnic lunch near the Seine River. Quietly she whispered to him, "I love you."_

_Hermione was arranging some flowers as the cork of the champagne bottle fired at the ceiling. She turned around and smiled at him as he poured the shimmering drink into the glasses. She sat beside him as he put his arm around her and gave her her glass._

_"Who are you really and who were you before?" he asked. "What did you do and how did you think?"_

_"I thought we said no questions," she said, looking over the rim of her glass._

_"Yes, that's right." He clinked his glass against hers. "Here's looking at you kid."_

_Hermione tossed a coin in the air and caught it. "A franc for your thoughts," she said._

_He smiled. "In America, they only bring in a penny, but I guess that's all they're worth."_

_She sat next to him and smiled back. "I'm willing to be overcharged. Tell me."_

_He looked at her. "It's just, why me? Why am I the one you come home to?"_

_"You mean, why is there no other man in my life?" He nodded. "That's easy. There was. He's dead."_

_"I'm sorry I asked."_

_She smiled at him. "Well, there is only one answer that can take care of all our questions." With these words, she leaned over and kissed him, his arms wrapping around her._

_The last few notes of "As Time Goes By" filled the Café Bella, as he filled three champagne glasses._

_"Well, drink up everyone," he said. "Henri has three more bottles of this stuff he wants us to drink. He says he'll water the garden with it before he'll let the Death Eaters have it."_

_"This sure takes the sting out of being invaded, doesn't it, Draco?" said Ginny, accepting her glass. Her red hair shimmered down her back, which would be dyed black in the future in Oran._

_"It sure does," he said. Then he raised his glass at Hermione. "Here's looking at you, kid."_

_She smiled weakly and continued to stare at her glass. "Draco, are you going to leave Paris? When they find out your record—"_

_"Yes, tomorrow. I left a note in my flat; they'll know where to find me. Say why don't you come with me?" She gave a small nod. "Why don't we get married in Marseilles?" She gave a small laugh and looked down, a tear trailing down her cheek. "Hey, kid, what's wrong?"_

_"Oh, nothing," she said. "I'm just being silly. After all, I guess I'm sort of engaged. I just love you so much, and I hate this war so much." She let the tears flow freely down her face. "Kiss me, Draco. Kiss me as if it were the last time."_

_He stood outside the Floo Network (all citizen fires had been shut off) in the rain, waiting for her. He searched the crowd and saw Ginny pushing her way to him._

_"Draco, the apartment was empty, but the neighbor did give me this note," said Ginny, handing him a letter. He took it from her and ripped open the envelope._

Draco,  
I'm sorry. I cannot come with you or ever see you again. Please don't ask why, but know that I love you. Go my darling, and God bless you.  
Hermione.

_He stared at the letter; the rain began smearing the ink. The line began to move, but he took no notice. Ginny took his arm and started pulling him gently. He followed her taking no notice of where he was going, neither thinking nor caring._

* * *

Okay, I know that the French for the lyrics is correct, but as for Draco asking Hermione to dance, it may not. So please forgive me if it's wrong! Ack!

Dragonfires


	5. Drunken Lullaby

Thank you, readers, for all of your lovely reviews. They really make my day!

* * *

Draco picked up the bottle and refilled his glass as the café door opened behind him. He turned and his eyes me the muddy brown ones of Hermione. He stared at her for a moment, and then gave a shrewd smile.

"Sit down," he said. "Have a drink. I saved my first one to have with you." Ginny saw Hermione as well and quickly exited through the back entrance.

"Not tonight," she said hurriedly.

"Especially tonight," he demanded.

She sat quietly in front of the empty glass and searched Draco's face. But her efforts proved to be unfruitful, for his expression was cold and impassive. "So why did you come to Casablanca?" he asked. "There are many other places."

"Believe me," she said. "I would have not come here if I knew you were here. I didn't know."

"It's funny- your voice is still the same. I can still hear you. 'Draco, I'll never leave you. I'll go with you anywhere.'"

"Please don't do this. I understand how you feel."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "You understand how I feel?" He gave a small laugh. "Do you know how long it's been?"

Hermione looked down. "No, I didn't count the days."

"Well I did. Every last one of them. Oh, and my personal favorite- the last one: A man standing in front of the Floo Network with a funny look on his face because his insides had just been kicked out." He took a swig of his drink.

"I want to tell you a story, Draco."

"What's the ending?" he asked.

"I really don't know..."

"Alright, tell it. An ending may come to you as you are."

"It's a story of a girl who came to Bristol from her home in London. And there she met a boy whom she had recently heard about. He opened up for her a beautiful world of knowledge and thoughts and ideals. Everything she ever knew or became was because of him. And she looked up to him and worshipped him with a feeling she supposed was love"

"Yes," Draco interrupted. "That's very pretty. I heard a story once; in fact, I've heard many in my time. 'Mister, I met a man once,' is how they always begin. I guess neither of our stories is very funny. Tell me- who was it that you left me for? Was it Potter, or were there others in between? Or are you not the kind that tells?"

Tears poured freely from Hermione's eyes as Draco struck his final blow. She stood up, and walked out of the café, slamming the door behind her.

Draco picked up the bottle, emptied it into his glass and took another drink.

* * *

Blaise looked up from his paperwork in the Ministry and smiled as he saw Harry Potter and Hermione Granger enter the office.

"Monsieur Potter," said Flint, standing up next to Blaise.

"Honored Flint," said Harry frankly.

"How was your night?" asked Blaise.

"We slept very well," said Harry. "Thank you."

"Strange, no one's supposed to sleep well in Casablanca," mused Blaise.

"It's nice to hear you are comfortable," said Flint slyly. "You may be staying here for quite some time."

"I don't understand," said Harry.

"Because of your actions, it is my duty to see that you stay in Casablanca."

"But whether you will succeed is debatable."

"Not at all- Zambini's signature is necessary for all exit visas." Flint turned to Blaise. "Do you believe Potter will receive and exit visa?"

"I'm afraid not," said Blaise. "My regrets, Monsieur," he added to Harry.

"Well, perhaps I shall like it in Casablanca," said Harry. "Is that all?"

"Well, there is one way you may obtain a visa..." said Flint.

"And that is?"

"You know the Liberator leaders in Cairo, Madrid, London, Dublin, and Paris."

"Even in Athens."

"Yes, even in Athens. Now, if you could just give me their names and exact whereabouts, you will be on the next plane to the Americas tomorrow and the honor of serving the Dark Lord."

Harry grimaced. "I was in a death camp for a year. That's enough honor for me. If I didn't give you their names there where you had more 'persuasive methods' for obtaining information, I certainly won't give you the names now. And even if I gave you the names and you killed them, thousands will rise to take their place."

"But no one will be able to take your place," prompted Flint.

"I'm sorry," said Harry. "I will not comply."

"Then I believe you will be staying in Casablanca indefinitely."

"So be it." Harry stood up.

"Oh, Monsieur," said Blaise. "You had an interest in speaking to Longbottom, correct? Did you have a message for him?"

Harry shrugged. "Nothing important. May I speak to him?"

"You'll find the conversation to be very one-sided," said Flint. "Longbottom is dead."

"Oh," said Harry, nodding. Hermione's eyes opened wide.

"Yes," said Blaise. "I was just making up the report right now. We can't decide if he committed suicide or died trying to escape."

Harry nodded and stood up. He took Hermione's had, said, "Good day, gentlemen," and walked out."

* * *

Draco leaned back in his chair and stared at Bill Weasley in the Silver Coin.

"You know," said Bill. "The news about Longbottom upsets me very much."

Draco smirked. "You're a hypocrite, Bill. You don't feel any sorrier for him than I do. And that isn't much."

Bill eyed him closely. "Of course you're right. What upsets me is that Longbottom is dead and those letters of transit are missing."

Draco shrugged. "No one knows where they are."

"If I could get my hands on those letters, I could make a fortune."

"So could I. I'm a poor businessman."

Bill grinned at Draco. "Draco, I'm going to put my cards on the table. I think you know where those letters are."

"Join the club. Zambini and Flint think they know where they are too. That's why I came over here- to give them a chance to ransack my Dragon's."

He glanced out the window and saw Hermione outside looking at the linen booth outside. "I'm sorry I can't stay any longer," said Draco. "I'll see you later, Weasley. I need to get a few things."

Bill gave a small wave and returned, slightly disappointed, to his drink.

* * *

"How did things go with Flint?" asked Hendrick.

"It's impossible for us to get a visa," said Harry.

"You may want to try talking to Bill Weasley."

"Weasley?"

"He almost has a monopoly over the entire black market. You'll find him in the Silver Coin."

"Thank you." Harry walked to the doorway of the Silver Coin, finding Draco Malfoy exiting the café.

"Afternoon," said Draco. "Weasley is the skinny gent wearing Armani."

"Thanks," said Harry, and he walked into the café.

* * *

Draco approached Hermione, who was looking at a lace tablecloth.

"Finest in Casablanca!" the salesman pitched. "Only 100 galleons!"

"You're being cheated," said Draco.

"Hello, Draco," she said.

"A friend of Draco?" said the salesman. "For friends of Draco, we have a special price- 50 galleons."

"I'm sorry I wasn't in the best condition to receive you last night," said Draco. "But you can tell me what you needed to now."

"I don't think I will, Draco."

"Oh! A special friend of Draco!" exclaimed the salesman. "For special friends of Draco we have a special price- 30 galleons."

"I'm really not interested..." she began.

"Hold on," said the salesman. "I'll get something I know you'll like." The little salesman bustled off, leaving Hermione and Draco alone.

"Well," said Draco. "I'm sober now. Why don't you tell me?"

"Last night I saw what had happened to you. The Draco I knew in Paris," she said. "He would have understood. But the man that looked at me with such hatred in his eyes. No- I don't think I will tell you. I'll be leaving Casablanca soon anyway. We knew so little about each other in Paris. We should remember those days and forget these in Casablanca."

"Did you leave because you knew what it would be like to live with me- running away from the police all the time?"

"You can believe that if you want."

"Well, I'm settled now. Walk up a flight in Dragon's, you'll find me there."

Hermione turned away, not saying anything.

"All the same," he said. "You'll lie to Potter too someday. You'll be there."

"No, Draco," she said, turning to face him. "You see, Harry Potter is my husband; and was, even when I knew you in Paris."

Hermione turned from him and walked to meet her husband in the Silver Coin.

* * *

Like it?  
Dragonfires


	6. Price of Freedom

Readers! I know, I know, I haven't updated in several months. My life has been crazy. Every single time I try to sit down and write there seems to be some reason I can't. But hope you can find room in your hearts to forgive me and accept Chapter 6 of Moroccan Nights as a bargaining chip.

Dragonfires

* * *

Hermione sat down next to Harry, who was talking to Bill Weasley. Bill had done well since he had left Gringott's. The money made from his café, plus his endeavors in the black market had supported him, and the struggling Order of the Phoenix.

"Hello, Bill," she said. "It's nice to see you again."

"And you, Miss Hermione," he answered with a smile.

"Hermione," said Harry. "Bill is saying he may be able to just get one visa for you."

"No," she said. "We need two."

Bill stood up. "I think I'll give you two some time to talk about it." He left the couple alone and walked to greet the new customers entering his café.

"I don't want to leave you alone here," Hermione persisted. "If I leave, I don't know what would happen to you."

"Hermione, this may be the only chance for you to get out. I know Zambini will want to keep me here."

"Harry, if the situation was reversed, and I was the one that had to stay, would you take the visa?"

Harry was silent for a moment, and then answered, "Yes, I would."

Hermione smiled at him. "Then why didn't you leave me in Marseilles? Or in Oran when I was recovering from spell damage?"

Harry grinned at her. "You little rascal," he growled playfully. He kissed her briefly on the mouth.

"Come on" she said. "Bill is waiting for our answer." Harry nodded, and the two walked to where the tall man was standing. "I'm sorry," said Harry. "We're only interested in two visas."

"Then I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay in Casablanca," he said. Hermione and Harry started for the door. "Wait," he said. "Have you heard about the Death Eaters and the letters of transit?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"The letters were not found on Longbottom. I have reason to believe he may have left them with Draco. It's worth checking out."

"Thank you," said Harry. "I will."

With this, Harry clasped Hermione's hand and walked with her out of the café. "Bill!" a voice called out. Bill turned to face his wife, Fleur Delacour. "Do you really zink Draco will give zem ze letters?"

"Not a chance," he answered. "But I guess it is worth a shot."

* * *

That night, Harry and Hermione walked arm in arm into Dragon's and were personally met by the owner.

"Bonjour, Potters," he said, accenting on the plural sound.

"Hello," said Harry.

"Could we have a seat near the piano?" requested Hermione.

"And as far away from Honored Flint as possible," added Harry with a laugh.

Draco gestured to a waiter. "Table thirty, Jacques." He then said to Hermione, "I'll have Ginny play 'As Time Goes By.' I believe it is one of your favorite tunes."

"Thank you," she said dryly.

The couple walked to the table given to them as Draco walked to Ginny and told her to play the too familiar song. Ginny gave him a strange look, but changed her song from a snappy one to the requested music. Draco looked up and saw Blaise enter the club.

"Your boys find anything?" asked Draco when Blaise sat down.

"No. I told Flint you didn't have them, but he didn't believe me. So I told my men to be especially destructive while searching here. You know how that always impresses Death Eaters."

"Impressive or not, we had to rush cleaning so we could open tonight," Draco grumbled.

Blaise shrugged and took a last sip of Merlot. "Well, I'm off to the tables, Draco." Draco nodded in consent as Blaise turned to leave. Millicent came to pick up the bottle, but he stopped her.

"Leave it," he said, pouring himself a glass.

"You know," she said, "you're getting to be your best customer, Draco." Draco smirked and downed the wine.

"Malfoy," a voice said. Draco looked up in question. It had been a long time since anyone had called him by his last name- most knew him as Draco. Harry Potter stood over him. Draco raised his eyebrows in question.

"May I speak with you?" asked Harry. Draco nodded and gestured to the chair. "Do you have anywhere more private?"

Draco nodded. "My office," he said. Draco stood up and strolled into the room as Harry followed behind. "So what did you want to talk about? I hope it isn't the resistance movement."

Harry gave a small smile. "You know, Malfoy, after knowing you in Hogwarts, you always seemed to follow a certain pattern- the Slytherin pattern. But I've seen your record. Back in the Battle of Dumbledore, you worked as a curse breaker. In Ethiopia, in the Merperson Conflict, you stole medicine for the injured ministry workers."

"So?" said Draco.

"Isn't it interesting you tend to be on the side of the underdog?"

"I'm a mercenary. I was well paid on both occasions."

"I'm willing to make you an offer, and you will be paid well."

"For what?" Draco questioned, almost knowing the answer.

"The letters of transit," Harry confirmed. "It is the only way Hermione and I can leave Casablanca. I'm willing to make an offer of fifty-thousand galleons."

"It's a tempting offer, but they're not for sale," Draco said.

"I move my offer to seventy-five-thousand," Harry pushed.

"Harry, you can make it a million galleons or three, my answer will still be the same. No." Draco lit a fresh cigarette and inhaled the smoke.

"I don't understand," said Harry, his brow furrowing in confusion. "There must be some reason why you won't sell them to me."

"There is," said Draco frankly. "I suggest you ask your wife."

"What?"

"I said, 'Ask your wife.'"

"My wife?" said Harry, surprised.

From outside the office came the noise of loud male voices singing. The two men stepped out into the café and saw a Death Eater seated at Ginny's piano, playing a loud, staccato, spirited tune while the other Death Eaters accompanied him in song. Ginny caught Draco's eye and shrugged in apology at the lost piano.

The song was in Latin, the language of "purity," before the days of Muggle-born acceptance. Draco's father had insisted Draco learn Latin, but Draco had never found any use for it. Harry had never learned Latin except for those words used in spells, but in his work with the Liberators, he had learned the lyrics, which glorified Voldemort's noble cause and a return to the purity of the wizarding world. Harry gritted his teeth together and walked to Dragon's small jazz ensemble. Racking his brain, he told the musicians to play the first song that came into his head.

"Play the school's song!" he urged. "Play it!" The band looked questioningly at Draco, who paused, and then nodded.

_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts,  
Teach us something if you please._

The Death Eaters tried to combat Harry and the band, but they were soon drowned out by Dragon's patrons, who stood and sung along, a few taking the Weasley twins' tradition of singing in a slow funeral march.

_Whether we be old and bald,  
Or young with scabby knees,  
Our heads could use some filling,  
With some interesting stuff,  
For now they're bare and full of air,  
Dead flies and bits of fluff,  
So teach us things worth knowing,  
Bring back what we've forgot,  
Just do your best, we'll do the rest  
And learn until our brains rot._

After the funeral marchers were finished, the anthem ended and cheers erupted throughout the café. Some shouted "Viva la France!" in the spirit of their home and hugged their companions; others had cheers pouring down their cheeks. Harry was congratulated by a few members of the band.

Flint surveyed the scene, and stalked over to Blaise. "Zambini, I would suggest you shut down this café immediately."

"But why?" asked Blaise. "Everyone is having such a good time."

"Yes, too good of a time. Shut it down."

"But I have no reason to."

"Find one," ordered Flint.

Blaise sighed, and then pulled out his wand. He shot green and silver sparks into the air and shouted, "Everyone is to leave Dragon's immediately. This café is closed until further notice."

Draco, shock displayed plainly on his face, stalked to Blaise as protests filled the air. "Hey, what's the meaning of this?" he said angrily.

"I'm shocked, simply shocked, that there is gambling here!" said Blaise as Christopher ran out to meet the two men.

"Your winnings," said Christopher, handing Blaise a small bag of galleons.

"Ah, thank you," Blaise said softly, and then louder, "Come on now. Move along!"

Hermione stood in the middle of the confusion, looking for Harry, when Flint approached her.

"Miss Granger, after tonight's demonstration, I do not believe it is safe for Harry Potter to stay in Casablanca," he said.

"This morning you implied it would not be wise for him to leave Casablanca," she retorted.

"Then that leaves two options. One for him to leave Casablanca and to return with us to occupied France."

"Occupied France!" she gasped. "On what grounds?"

"I'm sure our Lord could find a very good reason."

"And the second option?"

"By now, Miss Granger," he said, smirking, "you have probably noticed that in Casablanca, human life is cheap."

* * *

Hoped you liked it! Please review!

Dragonfires


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